


Chlorine Days

by SaturnSloth



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst?, Existential Crisis, I tried at least, Neglectful Parents, S3 compliant, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington's pool, Steve is sad, Stream of Consciousness, how to tag, mayhaps?, most of the characters are only mentioned, or "talked" about, very strong anti pool feelings, would not recommend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnSloth/pseuds/SaturnSloth
Summary: Steve harrington has an existential crisis. And reflects on some events.





	Chlorine Days

Steve really fucking hated that pool. 

It was nothing but a reminder of his many, many failures. He never used it anymore. His parents just refused to let him drain it. 

Not like they were ever home long enough to notice.

So he kept it clean. He kept it filled. Neither were easy tasks, considering it could rival the Hawkins Public Pool in terms of size. 

But he did it. Steve had always been a people pleaser. He played sports, he tried in class. He really did his best. But the best is never enough. Never worth the effort. 

The last time he had swam was with the kids, the party. It was missing a few members now. His aura of cool must've really worn off, they didn't come by much either. Except Dustin, he was always around, like a duckling or a leech, but a good leech. Thriving on stories of past glory, and although he didn't watch him like an idol anymore he still stuck around. Almost like a friend. 

But still here he was, alone, pool net in hand, staring off into the distance. Trees swirled around the house, an endless ocean, giving him a false sense of privacy. Just enough to let his mind wander, to fall out of any mask he tried to hold during the day. 

Privacy was an illusion, Steve knew. He knew from the pictures of him and Nancy taken unknowingly from the very same trees. He knew from the way his parents could bring up things he'd only ever discussed on the phone while they were out of town. He knew from a bedroom door left locked and a key on his mother's nightstand. 

Steve knew lots of things.

Steve knew he hated that fucking pool. A water drop fell from the bug filled net and slid down his hand, stealing away even his thoughts. He lightly threw the net to his side. A soft, disturbed clatter would have told him it had hit a lawn chair, scratching away at the perfect paint. But steve was already gone.

Sinking.

Soft, weightless.

Water ripples and bends. 

A thousand thoughts rushed through a quiet mind, none would stick. 

Water flowed over him a calming blanket. Always a false sense of security. It bent around him, moving for him. It wrapped and squeezed around him.

He was floating. He was suffocating. He was nothing. The weight of pain, of secrets, the weight of life slipped away.

He smiled to himself. Only for himself. 

Bubbles brought themselves up, up, up, rising to the surface. 

He didn't kick. He didn't move. He let himself sink to the bottom. Shoes and cloth helped him down. 

He could stay like this forever, however long that would take.

Although he had stepped off feet first, his shoulder was the first thing to scrape against the rough, cement bottom. Water held no rules. Water stopped for no man. 

Bubbles and bubbles. 

Air slipped away, like sand through sun rusted fingers.

He could feel the chemicals in his nose, his throat, clawing their way to his lungs. 

He opened his mouth, keeping himself as long as he could. His leg kicked without command and sent tremors through his whole body. He was clawing and turning and moving with no sense of space, time, direction. 

His lungs had given up on him, as they all did, forcing him to action.

He dragged himself up, oxygen flooding his body, his brain. He gasped. His head pounded. His nose ached and his ears were filled. His body screamed at him from all directions. 

After coughing up water and rubbing stinging eyes, he retreated to his back. Legs spread and arms flung wherever they pleased. His whole body shook, still recovering, the water too cold for life. He'd be taking the kids to thanksgiving soon. 

When he opened his eyes he caught a glimpse of socked feet and almost laughed to himself. When he looked down he could catch only tiny flashes of color amongst the artificial blue ripples. But he knew. 

Sitting deep within, a pair of shoes. In their perfect pool. They were a graduation present, of course. An awful color and three sizes too big. Brand new, still stiff.

How long would it take for them to disintegrate.

He let the water open and close his mind as he floated endlessly. Friends. Family. Monsters. Mayhem. False headlines. Signed waivers. Loss. 

He was supposed to go to a dinner tomorrow. His parents would come in the morning and stay for two days. 

He really did try in school. It was just so hard when the words danced and swam all over the page. 

Every day Robin nonchalantly begged a story out of him or the kids. Monsters and blood and baseball bats. 

She was pretty good with the kids. Definitely knew more about D&D. 

Robin was pretty good at everything.

Robin was pretty good.

Robin was pretty. 

Robin was...

Robin ...

___

They were in Steve's car, he was driving Robin home. The day was just slipping into darkness. A scatter of stars lined the sky. The quiet swished around them, comfortable, calm, weak, unstable.

"Do you still love Nancy" she asked her voice not as strong as normal. Tired from use.

"I'm not sure" he answered honestly, he wasn't sure of much anymore "I'm not sure I could ever stop"

Steve fell hard and fast. He wasn't one to land on his feet. He wasn't one to come out on the other side. He'd never won a real fight. 

"Are you still in love with me" she whispered now. She glanced at him, his eyes didn't move off the road. 

Silence stretched and bent as he turned every corner. Keeping more focus than usual. The night was growing. Stars were finding their place. 

___

That… wasn't great. 

He knew he didn't have a chance with Robin. He understood and respected that. Respected who she was. 

Robin liked girls, and only girls, and he... he wasn't her type. 

But Steve had a problem with throwing himself into things before he knew the stakes or consequences. 

In truth his "crush" was dwindling, fading into something else. Into friendship. But every once in a while- 

Steve hushed his mind back to a comfortable enough level of empty. He swam around. On his back. On his front. 

He swam until his fingers wrinkled. He swam until his muscles ached. He swam until he thought he should stop. He swam until he brushed his fingers on the rough sides enough to scratch away the top layer of skin. And after each landmark, he continued.

One end to another. The pool wasn't that big. There were specks of blood on his shoulder, on his fingertips. His skin stung. 

He remembered another time he'd felt the water through his shirt. When his legs cramped and his body begged for sleep. When there were more people. More life. More blood.

___

There was a girl, not that one, her friend. Barb. Barbra Marsh. And she had hated him. She gave him cold stares in the hallways and rolled her eyes when he asked questions in class.

He hadn't meant to make her roll her eyes but after he saw it he didn't ask his questions anymore. He still raised his hand but it was for laughs this time. It was on purpose this time. 

Barb seemed like an okay girl. She was Nancy's best friend after all. She was smart. Too smart to be amused by him. She obviously hadn't wanted to be there that night. Steve tried his best to make her comfortable, but Carol and Tommy didn't help much.

They were all dumb. Not Nancy or Barb. But Nancy played along with him. 

Was it his knife? He couldn't remember. 

And then Nancy was asking her to leave. She did. Or they thought she did. 

She never really did, did she? 

He hadn't seen her, but he saw Hopper and Joyce. He saw Nancy's eyes. He asked without answer. He knew.

Steve knew a lot of things.

____

It's hard not to think when your body is screaming at you. And when you're an idiot.

He climbed out of the pool. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he didn't want to be reminded of monsters. Didn't want to be reminded of his incompetence. Of tragedy. Of better times. Maybe he just had to piss.

It definitely involved that last thing. 

He pulled himself to the earth. He tried to stand on soft legs and fell immediately. Scraping his knees on the new layer of concrete. He cursed to himself and flicked water from his hands. He would be one big scab if he kept this up.

His parents would love that, him bleeding all over some rich guy's house. Scaring off a client or killing a so called "friendship". He couldn't remember which. 

He made his way to the house, muscles aching with every step. The novelty of swimming in clothes wearing off. He had lost his socks long ago. A shirt hung to him and slipped around in the worst ways, dripping and sludgy. Soft feet padded around tile floor. 

He stopped to look at a suit hanging off the back of a chair. He needed to remember to put it up in his room.

___

And two rode by bike. Dustin and Robin. Robin and Dustin. 

Steve had made the mistake of mentioning a dry cleaner, a suit. A coworker and a kid, both with far too good of hearing, perked up. 

"I gotta see that" one of them said. And the other agreed. 

And so Steve had paraded around in a suit he wasn't allowed to touch. Being heckled and cheered by his best friends. 

"Do a twirl" robin half yelled, her legs draped over the arm of a chair.

She bit at red licorice, taken off the candy counter. Assorted goods from the same counter lined Dustin's pockets. 

"Keith will never know. It's just one time" she had said.

"Besides we cant see a show without snacks" added Dustin.

___

The tire tracks were barley noticeable. He had checked. But they would be seen by nitpicking, overanalyzing eyes if the sun stayed out too late. Or if parents stuck around. 

He made a mental note to take up the suit so he wouldn't be called lazy or worthless or a waste of potential. At least not too early in the visit. 

The page was torn out and replaced with a louder and more urgent.

BATHROOM bold face, all caps, underlined three times. 

It's way harder to get yourself out of wet pants when you're in a rush. He should have just peed in the pool. There were enough chemicals in there to kill mothra, or several thirsty squirrels. An upbringing of strict rules and harsh enforcement kept him docile when the threat of authority, the threat of a Mr. Harrington lingered close by. 

Although the misses wasn't much better

He stopped to admire himself in the mirror. His hair sat limp and lifeless against his head. Still dripping curls swooped around his ears and lay flat on his neck. His prize feature, the source of all claims to pretty boy Harrington. The thing that a stranger would recognize, would admire. 

He decided on slicking it back tomorrow. Making it a stiff, sticky, harsh collection of gel. It would look classy enough to keep him intact but would win a frown from his mother. 

He decided against the idea when he realized it might win a round of applause from his father.

He didn't spend too long on his eyes they were an exact copy of his father's and made him sick. Nancy had always loved them while him and her were together. Robin had said they were dull and lifeless after he rang up a customer. But she had taken it back when familiar bikes crashed against the sidewalk. 

His lips were pale. The saltyt, bitter, sweet taste of chlorine still fresh. Glorious thoughts of hypothermia and pneumonia fluttered through his mind. Thoughts of paid short hospital stays and icey lectures about public appearances crashed through the paradise of made meals and pitty visits. 

In the end he would do what was always done. 

He would drag himself up the stairs and into bed. His clothes would stain the sheets. He would wake up in the morning and shower. A person gets pretty good at making eggs and toast after a few unsupervised years. 

A car would come, exact on time. The earily silent house would be temporarily filled with an endless bickering. He'd be chastised, criticized and nagged about anything and everything. 

Hed get dressed. Tuck in a shirt, find his too tight, too shiny shoes. 

Maybe he ran a slick hand through his hair.

Maybe he'd spray it soft.

Or maybe

Maybe he'd be out the door before they showed up. 

Maybe he'd pick up Robin. They would go too a house, a window of which he had frequented a few years ago. 

Maybe there would be a scatter of bikes against the lawn. 

Maybe he wouldn't worry.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's anything you feel should be added to the tags just comment. 
> 
> When you have an existential crisis in a pool and like projecting


End file.
